Page 100 of Warrior's Reign
She coughed and shifted subtly to block the entrance. “Perhaps you would like to prepare? If you haven’t explored the bathroom, it’s fully equipped. The adjacent wardrobe is stocked with a selection of suitable garments.” Her eyes skimmed down Reign’s body. “More appropriate than your work attire.”
What would defiance cost, or gain? Reign regarded the woman for a moment, the carefully curled hair and shimmering gold gown that was just two swathes of narrow fabric over full breasts, and a loose skirt with a slit up the thigh.
“Is what you’re wearing an example of suitable attire?”
Crislyn blinked again, a slow flutter of enhanced lashes. “I will help you make a selection.”
Reign shook her head. “I can dress myself. How long do I have?”
She eyed Reign. “Is an hour sufficient?”
Wow, didn’t need to sound so dubious. “It’ll have to do, I suppose. I usually need three.”
The bathroom was stocked with all the creams and oils needed for her hair type, including lotions in many of her go to scents and palettes of cosmetics, also her favorite brands. Someone was trying to send a message.
Reign decided to go along with dress up because looking like death warmed over never gave a girl a strategic advantage, also recalling her first meeting with Lohail-as-Loka and his apparent pleasure in a well turned out woman. So she applied a full evening face after tending to her curls, then went to the wardrobe, where she currently stood contemplating her life choices.
“Lord Lohail has preferences, if you’d care to. . .” Crislyn said.
Reign glanced at the woman, who stood in the bedroom threshold, a swath of white in her arms. “Let me see it.”
Crislyn held it out, and Reign pursed her lips. It was simple, made of fine material, with a sleeveless bodice and full flowing skirt of multiple panels of fabric. Unembellished, except for the intricate folding of the bodice.
“I think I’ll pass on the virgin sacrifice aesthetic,” Reign said.
The attendant visibly stiffened, opening and closing her mouth twice before replying. “This dress is a personal gift from Lord Lohail. Refusal would be seen as a slight.”
“I know about the Aeddannar. Don’t worry, if he asks, I’ll tell him you insisted. Cried, tore your hair out, the works.”
Crislyn’s slender shoulders stiffened. “Very well. I’ll be outside your quarters if you require anything.”
Reign turned back to the wardrobe. The various options inside boasted more color than they did cloth. Any of the outfits would soften her musculature and emphasize her hips and breasts, but she wouldn’t look like a temple priestess—a male’s fantasy version, anyway, because funny how in reality they always wore more cloth. If she had to give concubine vibes, she wanted to also give claws.
But refusing Lohail’s pick—she didn’t know enough about his temperament.
“Vykhan?”
She wasn’t really expecting an answer, but he replied. :Reign.:
He sounded. . .different now. The dark edge was frozen lava, something feral pulsing behind the thin shield of his control.
“What’s happened?”
:I am aboard. I am coming to you.:
“Are you alright?”
Silence.
Wariness flittered up her spine. What was he planning on doing when he came? Had he had to fight his way through? Was that why he sounded like he had just encouraged someone to fall on their sword?
She cleared her throat. “Lohail invited me to dinner. The dresses he sent seem to be making a particular statement. Would I offend him if I wore my street clothes?”
:I ordered your rooms be appropriately stocked, but Lohail may have intervened. What are the choices of attire?:
Well, now that Vykhan had confirmed he’d known beforehand she was coming to Anthhori, that confirmed her guess as to why Lohail’d made the offer in the first place. “Let’s just say these dresses must look lovely on the women in his harem. The first option was white, and more concept than cloth.”
Another long silence. :It would be in your interest to be seen as desirable rather than dangerous. He is gentler with beautiful women than with deadly ones.:
